


We Always Write Thank You Notes

by grumblebee



Category: Turn - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Uniform Kink, lap dance, rubbing out, stepping on men, the best thank you note, withholding orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: George gifts Ben a new uniform to repay him for his good deeds in the army. Ben returns this gesture ten-fold, while breaking in his brand new boots.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts).



The old uniform was shabby. Months of harsh weather had stripped the fabric of its luster, leaving only a thin and faded ensemble that Ben still managed to button up each morning. It shamed George to see him wear it, and know that there were new recruits wearing finer garments than him.

The worst were the boots; salted and scuffed old leather, soles practically worn through. From what George had heard, they weren't even Ben’s issued boots. He swapped them with a lower ranking officer, opting to take his beaten old boots and give the soldier more wear. “I have my horse” Ben had told him, handing over his pair, socks soaked with snow, “You’ll ruin your feet in those.” Had the soldier not penned George and informed him of Ben’s great kindness, he would never had known.

And so it was decided that Ben deserved better. A new uniform, one with not a stitch out of place. George signed off on it, requesting it be sent to Ben immediately. That should have been the end of it. One good deed repaid with a splendid new uniform.

* * *

“Good evening, General Washington. We've lit the fireplace for you.”

“Thank you. I’d prefer not to be disturbed.”

George unlocked the door to his chambers, bones weary. What he wouldn't give to sink into the mattress and dream--

“Hello, George.”

The voice startled him, but after a few seconds of collecting his heart from his stomach George could see the guest in his room. Benjamin, donning his pristine new uniform. He sat upright in a chair across the room, back straight and legs crossed. George felt his mouth go dry at the way his thighs pressed together through his tan breeches, the fabric stiff and new. This was more to George’s liking. He stepped into the room, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Benjamin. I see your new uniform fits well. Is it to your liking?”

Ben uncrossed his legs, keeping them wide apart. “It was very generous” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

George removed his cloak. “It was to repay your generosity to that young private. It suits you.” Ben shifted in his seat, hips moving to the edge of the seat so he could plant both feet firmly on the ground.

“Why don't you take a seat, George? You look tired.” George felt a prickle of excitement under his skin, but didn't rush to obey. Instead he leaned against the bedpost, resisting the urge to slump forward into the mattress.

“No need to give up your seat, Benjamin--”

“No, please. I can stand” he said, rising out of his seat to meet George. “Afterall...I’ve got new boots to break in”

There it was, the little spark George had anticipated. It seems Ben was unwilling to accept this new uniform without working a little harder for it. George gracefully took a seat, settling back in his chair. “Are the boots uncomfortable?” He asked innocently. Ben made a noise of dissent, raising one foot and planting it firmly in the center of George’s chest.

“They need to be worn in.”

George mouthed a little _I see_ , lips curling into a smile as Ben applied pressure to his chest. The weight pushed through him, pinning him to the back of the chair until he felt the legs tilt. The chair tipped precariously, sending his stomach lurching. Surely Ben didn't mean to tip him. But George felt his own feet lift from the floor as his chair leaned back, and he grabbed the sides of the chair to steady himself.

“Very good.” Ben said, removing his foot. The chair righted itself with a bang, George still clutching the sides its sides. “Stay like that.” It wasn't as if George had much of a choice. Within moments his hands were secured to the chair, bound at the wrists.

“Benjamin…” he breathed, staring up at him wide eyed. “What are you doing?” Ben slid into his lap, one leg on either side.

“Repaying your generosity.”

George was not ready. Not ready for the roll of Ben’s hips, or the slow, agonizing way he grazed over his crotch. Damn him. The boy _could not_ accept a gift without making a show of it. And what a show it was. Ben wriggled in his lap, lips pressed to the side of his neck where they sucked gently on the skin. He felt his cock thicken as Ben mewled against him, eager to see just how grateful he was for his brand new uniform.

“Here’s what's going to happen.” Ben breathed, his lips tickling the shell of George’s ear. “You're not going to move. Not one twitch.” That seemed damn near impossible. On the best days Ben in his lap sent him into a writhing mess. Securing him to the chair would do little to quell his urges. The desire to run his hands up and down those legs, squeeze his hips almost painfully as he pinned him to the wall. Ben must have anticipated this, and tied him as a precaution. Whatever was about to happen, Ben didn't want to get distracted.

The wiggling continued, rubbing hard and slow over the line of George’s cock until his mind had turned to mush. It was maddening. He needed contact, more so than the dull pull of fabric over his cock. He needed to fuck, to push into something and move his hips. His hips bucked in the chair, and Ben gingerly hopped off his lap.

“No twitching” he warned, clicking his tongue at George’s involuntary jerk. “Or we can wait…” George closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. He could stay still if it meant more was coming. To stop cold now would shatter him.

He watched as Ben sunk to his knees before the chair, slender hands moving up his thighs. With a little force his legs were apart, with Ben nestled neatly between them. George never understood why, but Ben always took his time on his thighs. His fingers ran slowly up the inseam, up towards the aching bulge. His fingers moved in slow circles, kneading into the meat of his thigh, squeezing the muscle. George’s heart quickened as Ben lowered his face, teeth pulling at the fabric clothing his inner thigh. Breath, hot and moist, seeped through the wool. He hoped to God that heat would make its way up.

It did, but at a pace far too slow for George to endure. His hips felt compelled to move, to nudge Ben from his quiet place between his thighs and plant his face where it could do real work. But he knew better. Ben had warned him twice. A third and George would be denied tonight. He waits patiently, but not happily, for Ben to be through with his thighs. That delicious heat now mouthing at his bulge, making his cock twitch beneath the damp fabric.

“You've been so good…” Ben praised, planting a sweet innocent kiss at the juncture of his hip. “That deserves something.” George couldn't bother with what Ben said after that. It had the tone of sweet praises, something akin to how wonderfully obedient he looked. All he knew was that the sensation of his breeches being undone overwhelmed him. He almost moaned as Ben finally reached in to coax his cock out.

One experimental lick, from base to tip. Then nothing. Ben pulled away, sitting back on his heels to watch George’s cock twitch and jump. That _couldn't_ be it. All this time and he barely _touched_ him. Ben cocked his head to the side.

“Was that not to your liking?”

George huffed, shifting his hips in search of some friction. “I was hoping you'd be more _generous_ .” Ben mouthed a little _oh,_ a wicked smile on his lips.

“Like this?” He asked coyly, moving to take the head into his mouth. George felt pleasure building at the base of his spine, his whole body a bundle of nerves. An unforgiving tease, that's what Ben was. The way he hollowed his cheeks, hummed around him. Wet every inch of him and dug those slender fingers into his thighs. It was too good. The bobbing motion of his head wasn't enough. George wanted to be deeper. His hips bucked once more, the tip of his cock slipping far enough back to hit Ben’s throat.

And then Ben pulled away. He wiped the spot from his lips, nonchalantly stuffing George back into his breeches. “No twitching. I'm afraid I can't allow that.”

George let out a choked sob. He hardly noticed the sweat he had broken out in just remaining still. But he had lost the chance to come. He broke the one rule. Ben rose to his feet, digging the heel of his palm into his own cock, letting George watch as he groped himself through his pants.

“If you were good I'd let you come. I'd pull out just in time for you to see it hit my face, and then I'd undo those ropes so you could help me with mine. But you couldn't sit still.” He said, disappointed.

George’s mouth went dry. “So...what now?”

“Now…” Ben growled, picking up his foot and planting it down on the front of George’s breeches. “You help me break in my boots.”

His heart skipped a beat as Ben leaned forward, his voice only a whisper against his ear. “You can move.”

And oh, did he move. George pressed his hips up, rubbing hard against the sole of Ben’s boot. He groaned, wishing he could have the hot dense heat of Ben’s mouth instead of the inflexible and unforgiving shoe. Ben smiled, grinding his heel down just so, just enough to make George’s breath hitch and hips jump.

“Go on now, you were so fond of moving before”

George picked up the pace, eyes closing as Ben toed him. He wanted more. More friction. More talk. More to take away, and give back in cruel little increments. He struggled against his restraints, slumping deeper into his chair to allow Ben more space. As expected, Ben applied more pressure, just enough for George to work with.

He came with a groan, seeing white as Ben pressed his heel into his crotch. A few moments of silence passed. Just long enough for the warmth of the orgasm to fade, and for George to feel the sticky mess in his breeches. He’d soaked them through, the wet stain only marred by the stamp of a boot print on the white fabric.

Ben released his wrists, straightening up as a sweet smile crossed his lips.

“Thank you again, Sir.” He said, smoothing over the buttons on his jacket. “It's a lovely uniform.”

George nodded, waving Ben off. He didn't have the energy to quip back. He'd let him have this one. But tomorrow, George planned on getting those new threads nice and dirty.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for Nim, who had been working very very hard and deserves all the good things. Based off of a raunchy series of texts celebrating my purchasing hot new boots, and what we'd do if we could use them on someone. <3


End file.
